The Flowing Path

There’s an expression in Wudang: 晴天观山景，雨天观仙景 Qíngtiān guān shānjǐng, yǔtiān guān xiānjǐng. “On a clear day, you see the mountains. On a rainy day, you see the immortals.” We practiced for nearly two hours in the rain, covering our taiji fu with long blue raincoats made of plastic. My socks and shoes were soaked, and every movement sent water flying—sometimes onto ourselves, sometimes onto each other. I’ll admit, I wasn’t loving it. During our practice, Master Gu spoke about t

I thought I would write more while I was in China. Before I left, I imagined quiet evenings in Wudang when I would sit down and put the day into words. But there was simply too much happening. Too much to see, too much to learn, too much to feel. I was living the experience rather than analyzing it. Now I’m home, and the reflection has begun. I’m happy to be here. Truly happy. I came home to a life I love, to people I love, to work that feels meaningful, to all the familiar c

I’ve asked myself an interesting question as I prepare to travel to China: Why go? Not why travel. I love experiencing new places and, like most people who wear many hats, I welcome a break from the day-to-day grind. I mean something more specific. Why travel halfway around the world to study something I can practice--and do practice-- at home? I can experience Tai Chi in Virginia. I can practice Qi Gong and meditate in my own backyard. I can study Chinese philosophy from the